That was when I ruled the World
by Dootsyblue
Summary: A rather angsty one-shot concerning a British Gentleman in depression about his past...and a rather annoying American who tries to show him a light. Half song-fic and half story, and it's my first Hetalia fic so please be kind! Mostly hurt/comfort but with a tiny bit of fluffy UsUk bromance, can be interpreted as romance if you really want. Full summary inside :


**Yosh, so it's time for my 1****st**** Hetalia Fanfic! Yay~ Unfortunately, it's a rather confusing and angsty one. You see, this one-shot fic is divided into two halves… a song-fic based on 'Viva la Vida' by Coldplay, which focuses entirely on England without any pairings as such – and a short story following on from this with a **_**weensy eensy**_** bit of UsUk, but only very lightly and it can be interpreted as friendship. If you're going to read this (please do please do please-ahem) then do read both halves as they both contribute to the story. Basically, just read it all in one. **

**Anyway, I'll stop blabbering on now so you can actually read the damn thing… (and anyone reading 'After Alabasta' and waiting for an update…forget it for now :( I got really uncomfortable writing romancey stuff and… meh. Sorry!)**

**Soooo….Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good- ahem, I mean, that Hetalia does not belong to me, nor does 'Viva La Vida by Coldplay' ;P **

**Enjoy this angsty/fluffy fic!**

* * *

_I used to rule the world._

He had been invincible, an unstoppable force weaving its power throughout the nations, spreading his law around the world like a plague intent on possessing all. He had owned the lives of many, and he had plundered too many nations to count. He had been uncontrollable; a wild, manic ruler who's ambitions knew no bounds; he had been a ruthless ruler, blind to anything but his own power… he had been an _empire_. The Mighty British Empire. Now…

_Now in the morning I sleep alone._

His power was dead, in the past. He was a dried, empty husk of his former self, scorned and treated with undisguised contempt by the rest of the world. He was despised, no, _detested_ by so many of his former colonies, who now treated him like dirt. Like weak, failed, worthless dirt. His reputation had been shattered like glass; his power ripped from his hands and scattered across the world he used to own and all before he could comprehend what on earth had happened. His colonies had rioted, they had fought, they had won… and now he was left for dead. Alone once again. Where had it all gone? What had happened to his rule, his Empire, his _life?_

_One minute I held the key; next the walls were closed on me._

They had completely shut him out; all of them. All of his colonies had just _abandoned_ him, left him to die and rot and be forgotten…and he alone was the cause of it all. It was _his_ fault, it was _him_ who'd tempted fate by trying to accomplish it all, and he'd ignored the signs, ignored the riots and the discord until it was too late. Until he'd lost them. All of them. And now? Now they were free, independent and uncontrolled – and he was nothing but a bad memory to them; a memory that would fade over time and would be forgotten, lost forever in history. That's all he was now. A memory of an Empire, reduced to…_this_.

_Once you go there was never_

_Never an honest word_

Now, he realised what a fool he'd been. He knew that he had been too ambitious – to even _dream_ of ruling the world was nonsense…but he, in his young and foolish stupor, had tried, and was now being forced to suffer the heart-breaking consequences. He could see now his mistakes; the lies he'd spewed upon his colonies like a fly spewing rotten food, and the harsh demands he'd made upon his hapless charges who could do nothing but follow... and riot. But it was too late now, too late for him to turn back the cruel, heavy hands of time and gain control over his idiotic, greedy past self, hungering for power and desperate for attention – it was far too late. And now he could see just how wrong he'd been.

_People couldn't believe what I'd become._

He had been so powerful – he, the British Empire, had ruled over so many, he'd held the lives of his people and colonies like puppets on strings all leading to his own hand - and they knew it. He had seen, back in his glory days, the uncontained _fear_ in their innocent eyes, he had felt their terrified hatred deep in his bones…and he had just laughed at it. He had laughed cruelly at their terror, for who would dare to challenge him? Any protesters had been squashed like insignificant bugs by his own powerful hand, and he had laughed and laughed and laughed.

_Revolutionaries wait_

_For my head on a silver plate._

Of course, he should have sensed that times were changing. He should have noticed that the weak colonies he'd raised were now strong, angry and desperate for independence – but he'd ignored it, simply treated them as small disturbances and had expected the revolutionaries to see sense and accept him as their ruler, their..._friend_. Therefore, when war declarations began to flood in, he was shocked. Caught by surprise, horrified that his 'children' were now mobs - no, _armies _of furious, broken people baying for blood. His blood.

_Oh who would ever want to be king?_

He now regretted it all, all of the power and all of the decisions he'd made. Entire colonies' willpower had been crushed by his hand, and when they regained power he had been to drugged on ambition to notice, and his great reign was brought to an end with a shatter. Oh, how he regretted his life choices; how he wished he was still a growing country of Anglo-saxons, slowly building up enough power to maintain himself – and only himself.

_For some reason I can't explain_

_I know Saint Peter won't call my name_

Oh, he wasn't going to Heaven. That he was sure of. He had been to blind, too dense to realise the failures he was tempting, and on top of it all he had been a harsh and greedy ruler. He had done far too many bad things in his life, and by now he was centuries old and had done far too much to be able to change. Not that he particularly resented it now – he knew he deserved to go to Hell, and knew also that he would _relish_ the pain. He would succumb to the torture and endure what he deserved. It was only fair after all.

_But that was when I ruled the world._

Now his dream was over. He was not respected, loved or worshipped at all – he had had his chance of good, honest glory and he had failed. Failed to notice, failed to act and failed to _thrive._ He would never be liked; that he could deal with but... how he missed his old life. How he hated being alone. How he hated having missed his chance. How he hated being England.

_That was when I ruled the world._

* * *

"Oh, poor _Angleterre, _recently you have been oh so _misérable_!What is up with you, _mon amis? _Is life getting you down? " Crooned France, patting England on the head patronizingly. England swatted the hand away furiously, glaring at the Frenchman with an acidic green stare.

"Shut up you insufferable twat! I'm bloody well fine so mind your own business!" he spat venomously, trying to hide the pain in his voice. He was lying. He _was_ down. He was truly, utterly depressed with his life and the mistakes he'd made in his youth, and was currently being absorbed bu guilt and anger – but as if he was going to tell the Frog that!

France cocked an eyebrow at the British gentleman.

"No need to get so touchy, _Angleterre_. I was merely amused at the oh-so-stupid expression on your miserable face, and wondered why you were so low! Onhonhonhon!" he mocked, striding away from the depressed man with a laugh.

England sighed, slamming his elbows down on the meeting-room table he was seated at and grinding his palms into his dangerously leaky eyes. He would not cry in front of that Frog-face! Just because he'd been reminiscing about his tragic and sorrowful past did _not_ mean he had to get all emotional in the presence of that wanker…but now he was gone, and England was left alone.

…_Again._

He growled furiously, shaking his head to clear the stuffy, disconsolate thoughts that were crammed uncomfortably in his mind like bad memories in a storage room, and with a huff made his way to the balcony in the meeting building. However, he stopped at the door when he saw the one man who would definitely _not _help his current predicament: the innocent, blond haired and carefree America. How _helpful._ Just when he needed some alone time outside, that bloody git just _had_ to be there, causing his already morose mind to haul up some particularly painful memories particularly concerning the 4th July. England made to turn around and leave before he became overwhelmed by grief in front of the American, but was stopped by a cheerful shout from the younger nation behind him.

"Oh, hey England! I was just looking for you when – hey, are you _crying?_" America's incredulous voice reached his ears as the young man ran up to him and spun him round rather roughly, revealing the older nations' watery eyes and tear stained cheeks.

"No, I'm not you b-bloody prat… Bugger off and annoy someone else!" England sniffed desperately as memories of his little America flooded his tired mind, stiffening his shoulders as he tried to twist out of the stronger man's grip.

"You _are_ as well! Dude! What happened to make the 'gentleman' turn all emotional, eh?" gasped America as he shook England's shoulders.

England shuddered, glaring at the man before him in emotional pain. Oh, _why_ did he have to interfere with everything?

"If…If you really must know, it was because of… well, amongst other things…partly because of you, _twit. _Now bloody well let me go!" He snapped angrily, struggling violently.

America shook his head in disbelief, staring at the older nation.

"No way Dude…I mean…Oh God, this is about the Revolution again isn't it?" America shuddered, interrupting England's protest with a sigh.

"Aw man, England, I told you to let go of that Dude… it didn't change anything between us except you owning me, right? We're still buddies!" He tried comfortingly.

However, this only seemed to anger the Brit more as he glared daggers at the American.

"If you only think that, then you have no bloody _idea_ about revolutions!" He cried in frustration. "You don't know what it's been like for me – I had it all… power, colonies, fame…I used to _rule_ the bloody _world! _And the _some_ people started getting ideas, started _revolutions _to gain independence…and now look at me! I'm a wreck! Left for dead! A nothing, scorned and hated throughout the entire-mmph!" England was stopped in his tearful rampage as strong arms suddenly secured him into a hug and a hand was clapped over his mouth. America sighed, swaying slightly as he held his former mentor in an iron grip, and gave a small laugh as the Brit tried to angrily bite the offending hand currently stifling his heartfelt speech.

"Listen, Iggy man. I know you'll hate me for this, but…you are _seriously_ overreacting, dude! Look, no countries _hate _you! Uh, except for maybe Spain and France and…but that's beside the point! I mean, none of us would ever forget about you, or want you dead, or anything like that! You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and realise that you're not alone! You have me - and before you claim that we can't be allies because of Independence Day, well sorry, but that's just Bullshit! I left because I was growing up, and needed my own life – not because I hated you! And, you know, I'm sure your other former colonies feel the same. So please, stop hating your life, 'cause…well…_I'm_ in it dude! So your life is obviously gonna be freakin' _amazing_ right!" America grinned worriedly as he ended his stumbling speech, patting the older nation on the shoulder and waiting for a response eagerly.

England sniffed grumpily, glaring up at America with red eyes. Damn that...

"…Prat," he sniffed stoically, before hastily hugging the American and striding out the room with as much pride as he could still regain.

America smiled as the Brit left.

England ran his hands through his hair as soon as he had exited the room with a shaky smile. Damn that _bastard_, making everything seem somehow better.

_I used to rule the world._

_But now…I am no longer alone._

* * *

**Yup, so that was it! Enjoy it? Then REVIEW…please…I'll make you pasta O.O**

**(lies)**

**But please review anyway ;P**

**Oh, and are they all I.C? I think I sorta failed at tsundere England ;A;**

**And...I don't know if the line break thing worked or not *A***

**P.S Also, about the French…it might be wrong. Correct me if so. Oh also, this story has been Un-Beta'd, I think (whatever that means… someone please explain to me!), so excuse any grammatical or spelling errors (Though **_**please**_** do alert me as I am a bit of a grammar Nazi and get depressed when I make mistakes that remain unresolved. Ahem…)**

**Anyway, byeeee for now!**

**~Dootsyblue**


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